Darcy's soldiers
by Katzenpfote
Summary: After his return from Kent Darcys melancholy worries his sister. This is a songfic translated from german by myself. cannon


Darcy's Soldiers

This is a "Songfic" to Maxim-Meine Soldaten

Disclaimer: Pride and prejudice as well as the song text is not my property... I only play with it and promise to return it unharmed.

* * *

Since his return from Kent, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was exceptionally melancholic. Society events were alway a matter of duty and not of pleasure, but now not ten horses could force him to attend a ball or even a soire. His box at theater and opera, who usually saw action at every stay in London, now sat solitary and forgotten even at the main events of the season. He had secluded himself in a fashion, that not even intimate friends where sure of his being in town at all.

His sister, Georgiana Darcy, sweet 16 and since that unfortunate incident at Ramsgate, not a lover of polite society herself, was increasingly alarmed.

Oh, her brother seemed completely normal on the outside. He laughed at the right moment of her tales and was everything an attentive brother and guardian was supposed to be.

But in these moments, he deemed himself unobserved, there was a look of the deepest pain in his eyes and a desolation in his countenance heretofore unknown. Every time Georgiana noticed her own heart was overflown with tears from the intensity.

Just a few seconds where sufficient to hide his distress again and had it been just one time, Georgiana had surely dismissed it instantly. No, those Moments of failing composure were no trick of the mind. (Georgiana was an avid reader of modern novels). Her brother ruled over his emotions like a general commanded his troops. But a missed tone at the pianoforte, a peculiar turn of a sentence, even something as simple as the flower arrangement in the sitting room (a bouquet of roses and lavender) where sufficient to discompose him. Those mentioned flowers withered as soon as the next day and so disappeared. Apparently someone had forgotten to water them.

One morning Georgiana found her brother in the music room while sorting through her sheet music. Those were – I'll grant you that – mostly in a state of chaos atop the pianoforte. When Georgiana greeted him on entering the room, he visibly flinched and tried to justify his actions with some words on order. Shortly thereafter he left the room without another word. curious, Georgiana leafed through her sheets and noticed some of them missing. Notably absent where a sonata of Mozart and some Bach-Kanatata, which where gifted to her by her brother himself just last christmas. Directly after his return with the Bingleys from Hertfordshire.

Some days later Georgiana was in a discussion with the housekeeper, when a surprisingly rapid decline of the brandy and port supply in the library was mentioned. Usually this only happened, when her cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, was in attendance.

For Georgiana this was the last hint she needed, to suppose, that her brother was suffering from heartbreak. (Even if the male heros from her novels usually where more obvious in their heartbreak, there were some parallels: the declining supply of liquor, the sudden discomposure at what had just as sudden been declared favourite songs, the intolerance of happy society and not to dismiss, the melancholy)

This left the question of how to help her poor brother. As an independent gentlemen of worth, he disliked pity like everything that could hint of weakness. Surely he governed his heart as stern as any a dictator of the greek polis of old. Georgiana feared for his sensible and good heart. She imagined it hidden behind walls of self control, in chains of rationality and with a gag of pain, broken in a dark and damp dungeon. Anything, that it could not cry out for the one who broke it.

Georgiana knew, that help could only come from one quarter. Only one person could assist her to break those walls and toss a stone that would raise the waves to break the dams. Even if the situation her brother found himself in was in no way comparable to the ease with which her own stupid naive heart had broken, Georgiana knew, that the compassion of her companion had done a lot to heal her wounds. So Georgiana took heart and did the extreme: she wrote to her second guardian and cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. He could never refuse her anything and so acted without delay.

As soon as the following day found a more or less welcome guest at their home. After exchanging the usual civilities Colonel Fitzwilliam all but manhandled his cousin to the library and poured him a brandy. This was the last Georgiana could see before the door was closed firmly. Fully aware of the impropriety the girl went into the adjacent Mistress study, which was seldom used. It had a little connecting door to the library, which was not visible from the group of armchairs in front of the fireplace (where not only the liquor, but certainly the occupants of the room were located). The connecting door was soon and silently opened and Georgiana seated herself at the bureau. The voices from the library did not penetrate the small opening in full, but now and then some words or a full sentence were clearly audible. Those were used to diligently puzzle out the content of the conversation.

"It is not good for me to remember." said the harsh voice of her brother and confirmed for the eavesdropper, that yes, something had happened indeed.

"... not right... Georgiana... very alarmed. What the devil happened in Kent?" this was the voice of her cousin. Well the answer would certainly interest her too.

"...refused me...absolutely justified, if you … not proud of what I said." some more fragments.

"...hopes up. Is there no ... see her again?" once more the voice of her cousin. She was scarcely breathing to catch the answer to that important question, which the gathered to mean, that her cousin did not deem the situation so very hopeless.

"No. It's better to forget her altogether." The sentence was very clear. As if her brother had moved towards the connecting door. Again Georgiana held her breath, but the voice grew distant again. He was probably pacing as was his want in such a situation.

"... surely work on my conduct in society, in case... not much hope. She travels seldom... no cause to return to Hertfordshire..." Hertfordshire? He must have met the lady there, who later broke his heart. This confirmed all her vague theories.

"... Pemberley. Maybe I'll go early. I do not have patience to deal with Miss Bingley and her scathing commentary." Where did that come from? She must have missed the turn in the conversation. She would have liked to learn more about the mysterious lady.

"... drink to fortune hunters of the ton." That was again the merry voice of the Colonel and Georgiana knew, that the conversation was over for now. Silently she closed the connecting door and left the study. Hopefully this had been helpful to her poor brother.

* * *

For those who are not familiar with it, here follow the lyrics and their translation:

Ich bau eine Mauer und sprenge die Brücken.

Systematisch jeden Gedanken an dich unterdrücken.

Die Fotos verbrennen und die Lieder zensieren.

Komme was wolle, ich darf die Kontrolle nie wieder verlieren.

Alles was sich bewegt, lass ich streng überwachen.

Verdächtige Elemente sofort unschädlich machen.

Es reicht ein Zeichen der Schwäche, ein Zittern der Finger.

Ich brauch kühles Blut, denn es tut mir nicht gut, mich an dich zu erinnern.

Es tut mir nicht gut, mich an dich zu erinnern.

_I build a wall and blast the bridges._

_Systematically suppressing all thoughts of you._

_Burning the photos and censure the songs._

_Come what may, I may not lose control ever again_

_Everything that moves, I let strictly watch_

_Suspect elements are promptly disarmed._

_A sign of weakness a tremor of the finger will suffice._

_I need cold blood, 'cause it is not good for me to remember you._

_It is not good for me to remember you._

_**(Refrain)**_  
Und immer wenn mein Herz nach dir ruft

und das Chaos ausbricht in mir drin,

schicke ich meine Soldaten los,

um den Widerstand niederzuzwingen.

Immer wenn mein Herz nach dir ruft

und es brennt in den Straßen in mir drin,

befehle ich meiner Armee alles zu tun,

um es wieder zum Schweigen zu bringen.

Bis es geknebelt, gebrochen ist und weggesperrt

und mir endlich gehorcht mein armes Herz.

_Always when my heart calls for you_

_and there is chaos within myself_

_I send my soldiers_

_To fight the resistance._

_Always when my heart calls for you_

_and the streets within myself are burning_

_I order my army to do everything_

_To silence it again._

_till it is gagged, broken and confined_

_And finally obeys, my poor heart._

Ein guter Soldat stellt keine Fragen.

Er läuft Runden im Park, bis die Beine versagen.

Die Stirn in den Staub wie ein Ja und ein Amen.

Ein Soldat vergisst alles,

im Falle des Falles auch den eigenen Namen.

_A good soldier does not question._

_He jogs in the park until his legs collapse_

_The forehead to the dust like a yes and an amen._

_A soldier forgets everything_

_If it comes to that even his own name_

Doch ich brauch nur einen Verräter, eine undichte Stelle,

einen winzigen Stein für eine gewaltige Welle,

ein Funken im Zunder und alles steht wieder in Flammen.

Die ganze Fassade klappt wie ein Kartenhaus in sich zusammen.

Klappt wie ein Kartenhaus in sich zusammen.

_But I need only one traitor, one leak_

_a tiny stone for a gigantic wave_

_A spark in tinder and everything is all aflame again._

_Crumbles like a house of cards_

_The whole front crumbles like a house of cards_

_**(Refrain)**_ ...


End file.
